


Chances

by LittleSammy



Category: NCIS
Genre: Elevator, F/M, enclosed spaces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:25:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSammy/pseuds/LittleSammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up with Tony, but it's not the morning after. Tag to "Till Death Do Us Part", long overdue. Requires a slight mush warning. Hopefully, you'll forgive me. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chances

**Author's Note:**

> Happening after "Till Death Do Us Part", so yes, spoilers for that episode. Otherwise - not much to see here. Move along.
> 
> No, I haven't abandoned writing these two. I was just distracted by drawing them for a while. There are, quite literally, a lot of stories left to tell. :)

Steady. Soft, slow thumping that pulls her out of the haze gradually. 

Part of her knows it's Tony's pulse against her cheek. (She knows the rhythm of his body by now, sometimes better than she knows her own.) Another small voice chimes in and wonders idly why he's close enough for her to feel this intimate noise. Did he get her drunk? Drunk enough?

He moves underneath her, turns while he takes a deep breath, and her head slides off his chest and to his arm. For a heartbeat she feels even more disoriented, but that might be because she keeps her eyes closed while he moves beside her. Her head hurts, and she knows there's going to be light out there, so she presses her fluttering lids shut and tries to ignore the way his body rocks hers. Maybe he'll go back to sleep if she feigns ignorance long enough.

"Fuck," he mumbles just then, and his whole body suddenly tenses up. Drawn bowstring, ready to snap any second. He says her name, and the way it tumbles off his lips, so urgent and shocked, that tells her something is very wrong. "Ziva," he repeats, even more panicked, and then her eyes fly open after all because his big hand touches her face, and they don't do that kind of thing. Usually.

She was right, there is light, but not as much as she expected. Emergency light. And only half of that at best. 

Right. No party. No drinking. Just a bomb.

She blinks when his grip tightens and it feels as if he's fighting the reflex to shake her, just so she'll answer him. Her eyes focus on him, agonizingly slow, and when she's finally done with the blinking the fog out of her eyes, he presents a sight she didn't expect. Debris is on his cheekbone, and his hair is dusty and ruffled. It's his expression though that really shakes her to the core and leaves her with her heart skipping a beat or two. There's mad panic shining in his eyes, and the raw, unfiltered emotion stabs her right in the gut. She's speechless, helpless, even when his shock switches to sudden relief and then something else entirely, something so overwhelming that her mind refuses to recognize it for what it is, even while he drags her face close and presses his mouth to hers.

Her own eyes widen at the shocking indiscretion of the act. His breathing is ragged, and for a few seconds she's too stunned to do anything except take in the sensation of his hand on her face and in her neck and the way his grip tightens even more when she stiffens in surprise. His lips are hard against hers, not moving at first, and she's not sure what to make of that. It's not unpleasant, despite the unfamiliarity of it. And it's just familiar enough that part of her waits for him to deepen the caress, now that they have established she won't shove him away, and that part feels vaguely improper the longer the kiss lasts. As if she shouldn't be expecting more out of this.

But despite her vague expectations he doesn't turn this into more, just keeps pressing his mouth to hers, and another part of Ziva is relieved because it wasn't that big a thing after all. It wasn't lust and certainly not the kind of emotion she thought she saw for a heartbeat in his eyes. It was just the basic human need for physical affirmation in times of disaster. Coping with stress.

Still, her fingers curl around the collar of his shirt to keep him close, and she can't help the urge to return the gesture because yes, he's right, it feels so good to be alive. Only it's not just that for her, and she can't hide the fact completely that she feels something when he's close to her like that. 

It's not much, but it's enough of a hint that he deepens the kiss after all. Still no tongue and no exploration, just lips against lips. But yes, it's suddenly something else for both of them, just like that. It's tainted with all these emotions and just a hint of despair all of a sudden, and she's getting sucked in by that. Moth to a flame. Her breathing quickens while he holds her like this, tight, and almost crushes her lips. It's not like she has a choice, really.

But yes, it ends eventually, in an unpleasant way because she flinches when she leans into him a little too hard and pain shoots through her left arm. He pulls back at the involuntary noise she makes deep in her throat. Not completely, just enough to tear his mouth from hers. His hand stays pressed to her cheek, and he closes his eyes and leans his forehead against hers for a moment, as if he needs to catch his breath.

"Sorry," he mumbles, and he looks so young and confused all of a sudden that Ziva just wants to lean back in and kiss him again. But since they, usually, don't do this kind of thing, she says something about her arm instead, and he pulls away and that's it, then. Crisis come and gone, without rattling the ugly cage of status quo in the least. As usual.

She's glad to have the sharp pain in her arm to blame for the sudden rush of frustration.

*** *** ***

She's pretty sure her arm isn't broken. (She can still move it, after all.) But even if it's just a hairline fracture, it's enough to keep her from using it properly, and so she doesn't bother telling Tony to give her a lift to the roof of the elevator. She couldn't pull herself up and out anyway. Which adds to her frustration.

"Stop pacing like that," he says eventually while he pulls himself to his feet. "It makes me nervous." He grimaces just as she turns her head, and the heated reply that's already on the tip of her tongue dries up just as fast as it rose. He's so pale, and he looks as if he's quite unsteady on his feet. There's blood trickling down his neck.

She reaches for him, steadying him before she even realizes it, and while she holds him upright and helps him lean back against the elevator wall that's weirdly askew, he gives her a sheepish grin.

"I think I bumped my head."

And yes, her fingers are indeed stained with red when she pulls them from the back of his head; she blinks and tries her best to cover up the strong reaction it draws out of her. She can't deal too well with seeing his blood on her hands.

"Concussion," she mumbles and forces a reassuring smile onto her face. "That explains at least some of your erratic behavior."

But Tony doesn't even see the fake grin because he zooms in too hard on what she says, and so his reply is instant and livid. "That's not why I kissed you." His words, tinted with anger, leave her blinking and strangely confused, and once more her heart misses a beat. Or two. 

Aside from not doing it in the first place, they simply don't acknowledge this sort of thing. This... kissing thing. Usually.

"Sit down," she orders him eventually. "You shouldn't move around too much."

It scares her a little when he just nods and obeys her.

*** *** ***

She keeps pacing and presses the emergency call button every other minute. She's not sure it works, but she can't rule it out completely. (Half of the lights are working, after all.) And it's about the only thing she can do right now.

Tony stays on the ground, one freakishly long leg stretched out, the other bent and his arm propped up on the knee. He tries his best to stay awake, but his head falls back against the shiny elevator wall eventually, and his eyes flutter shut. He leaves a smear of blood on the wall. 

Ziva bites her lip and tries not to scream her frustration at their metal trap.

*** *** ***

The rescue unit finds them after what feels like days when in reality it was probably not much more than an hour. She can't check. Tony's watch stopped working, and her own is... lost, somewhere. She's not sure when she took it off. (Not that it really matters now anyway, but she feels like she should remember it.)

The rescue team guy, as Tony calls him, yells down the elevator shaft and asks how they're doing, and she tells him they're okay. Well, not okay-okay, but they're not in any immediate danger. And that's when she gets scared again because he's silent for a moment. Then he asks them if they can hold it together for another hour, maybe. Because they still have several people out there for whom every second counts.

"Yes. Yes, of course." She has to clear her throat before she can get the words out, and her eyes are strangely clouded all of a sudden. 

Rescue team guy thanks her. There is distinct relief in his voice, and that chokes Ziva up even more. She doesn't dare ask him if it's someone they know. Probably. There's hardly anyone out there they don't know.

*** *** ***

"Jesus, Ziva, will you cut it out with the tiger in a cage thing?" he mutters after a while. "You're driving me nuts."

She turns her head and meets his gaze. He's still on the floor, still leaning against the wall like he did an hour ago, and that tells her he's hurt worse than she thought. But he still raises his hand and beckons her closer.

"C'mon, give it a rest," he murmurs, and she bites her lip and fights the renewed rush of nervousness.

Eventually she gives up though, and while she sighs and her shoulders sag, she moves to sit by his side. He closes his eyes, and a tiny, relieved smile tugs at the corners of his pretty mouth. His arm comes up around her shoulder when she leans into him. It's almost like a reflex. She's not sure why, but some of the insane tension flows out of her at that simple action. She breathes out, and his arm grows a little heavier on her shoulder. 

"So why did you kiss me?"

She's not sure he heard her question. His breathing is so even now that she thinks at first he's fallen asleep. (And maybe that's the true reason she asked him in the first place.) But then he shifts and turns his head, and she feels his lips brush her temple. It's a brief caress, so soft that for a moment she thinks maybe she just imagined it, but she still freezes against him.

"Because," he says, and she's pretty sure her mind is not making that part up. " Because for a second I thought I'd missed my chance to do it."

Her heart beats hard and fast in her throat all of a sudden. It's only for a few seconds, but it's enough to choke her until the simple nature of the statement really sinks in and her chest un-tightens. His hand slides down her arm in something vague, something not quite a caress. She gets it anyway, and she turns her head a little so she can better snuggle into his embrace. His breathing evens out in response almost instantly, and his lips move against her temple once more while she takes a slow, careful breath. There aren't any words this time, but she doesn't need any. She gets his meaning anyway.

He's almost asleep when she reaches for his hand. Cups it for a heartbeat, then curls her fingers into his and digs her thumb into the pressure point that leaves him jerking and cursing.

"Ow! Ow, stop it!" She knows it's mean, but she can't hide the smile completely while he groans and shakes the smarting hand. It's another reflex, born out of long years of dealing with each other like that. "Are you nuts?!"

"You're concussed," she replies quietly, and that's when he notices she has turned her face into the curve of his neck and breathes the words against his skin. "You're not supposed to sleep." 

"You could have just shoved me in the ribs," he mumbles back. "Or asked some silly questions."

She can tell he's not really all that irritated with her. He's too distracted by her closeness now to be angry, and she likes that. Likes it so much, in fact, that she hums her reply directly against his skin. The unfamiliar intimacy of that act draws a soft shudder out of him, and the way he says her name then, almost like a question, tells her he's confused now.

"DiNozzos," she sighs, "sometimes require a firm hand."

He laughs at the intentional double entendre. It's a low rumble that reverberates all through her body because she's closer to him than usual, and that feels so good it's a little unreal. She keeps tracing soft patterns on the back of his hand while his chuckles dry up, and she thinks that she doesn't care what she has to do to keep him awake and alive, as long as she'll get her own chance to kiss him back later. When he's no longer quite as concussed. When he'll be able to appreciate the action. And others, maybe.

She breathes out and closes her eyes, and he draws her closer, against his chest, so she can rest more comfortably while they wait for the rescue unit to return. 

His heartbeat is a slow thump against her cheek. Steady, and strong. She likes it like that.


End file.
